


Was It Not Fate

by xxTwasADreamxx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 20:03:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3663165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxTwasADreamxx/pseuds/xxTwasADreamxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just past two in the morning, and Sirius couldn't sleep. RemusxSirius slash, set in the Marauder's Era.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Was It Not Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is the first Harry Potter fic I've been brave enough to write. Hope everyone enjoys reading as much as I enjoyed writing :)   
> Poem and title belong to the poem To Helen by Edgar Allan Poe.   
> Disclaimer: I own nothing, it all belongs to the lovely J.K. Rowling.

_Was It Not Fate_

It was a July midnight; and from out

A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring,

Sought a precipitate pathway through heaven.

- _To_ _Helen_ , Edgar Allan Poe

         It was just past two in the morning, and Sirius couldn’t sleep.

         He could hear James’ steady breath and Peter’s soft snores from across the room, but in the bed next to his, there was only silence.

         Sirius thought he heard the sound of a lonely howl by the forest, but maybe he was dreaming. Maybe the sick feeling he got every time he imagined Remus alone and hurting out there every month meant there was something physically wrong with him. Maybe he needed a blood test; maybe he had mono. It wouldn’t be the first time.

         This time Sirius was sure the howl he heard was real, but when he slipped from bed and padded over to the window, all he could see was the moon, large and looming in the sky like some ferocious thing, and beyond that, darkness.

...

         “Are you fucking kidding me?” Anya Cooke screeched, and Sirius flinched as the harsh sound grated like the edge of a knife blade against his ears. “You can’t just _fuck_ me and then decide it’s over, Sirius Black.”

         She lowered her voice on the last line, hissed it at him with a flick of her pink tongue that had been so attractive, earlier. Sirius smirked at the memory, shrugged.

         “Is that all you have to say to me?” she snapped, baring her small, even white teeth at him, like a cat parading as a lion.

         Sirius shrugged again, bared his teeth right back, and she left cursing him and his family and everything he ever set eyes on.

         As if he hadn’t already cursed those things enough himself.

         “Told you she was bat shit, mate,” James grinned, reached over to ruffle his hair with an affectionate nudge of the arm that Sirius melted into with an answering smile.

         “Good fuck, though,” Sirius countered, and James laughed, head thrown back with glee, and Peter giggled in that nervous way of his, and Remus just shook his head.

         Later, Sirius would corner Melanie Grant in a closet and kiss her until she begged him for it, but then he’d remember Remus’ disapproving eyes and his downturned mouth, and he would smile winningly and tell her he’d forgotten about a prank he’d been planning to pull on Snivellus, and flee to the bathroom and take a long, cold shower.

         It wasn’t like the disapproval got to him, except when it did.

         ...

         Sirius thought he liked the running the best, when he was in his Padfoot form. The way the cool night air would thread through his fur and whistle in his ears, the way his legs seemed to carry him like wings in great leaps. He liked the freedom of it, really, liked the thought that he could outrun any human, any mother or father or brother. Any friend, even.

         But not when Remus was there, because when Remus was there he liked to cuddle. Even bitten and scratched up as he was, even aching and bleeding, he would push his snout up against Remus’ neck and lick a line down his fuzzy throat and wag his tail so hard it audibly thumped against Remus’ side.

         Even after, when he was changed back and safely tucked under his covers, he would relish in the tender places that glared like trophies of blue and black against his pale skin. Sometimes he’d even press his thumb into them, kneed down until he had to bite his lip from crying out, and even then he’d push harder.

         One night, when Remus’ wolf form had been particularly vicious, after the moon had let up and they had all fallen into bed again with the dawn, Sirius remembered the light in Remus’ yellow, animal, intelligent eyes and pressed down on his bruises and fisted his cock and came within seconds. It was almost embarrassing how fast it was, too, except then he remembered teeth pressing into the soft skin behind his right ear and he was hard again.

         He didn’t think about why, at least not much. He kind of just accepted that it was the high of the whole thing, like smoking pot or snorting coke, except better, really. And afterwards, so what if he needed to jack off, and so what if the only way he could do it was to imagine a wolfs sharp edged teeth and blood tipped claws?

...

         One afternoon in Potions Sirius caught Remus staring at his hands. They were mixing a particularly difficult brew, and Sirius’ must have gone wrong, somehow, because suddenly he was forcing all his muscles into use to just drag the spoon through the sticky, thick substance. His hands were clenched so tightly against the spoon the veins showed in stark contrast to his skin, and his fingers flexed on every press forward.

         Remus must’ve felt his eyes, because he looked up suddenly and Sirus’ grey gaze met blue and for a moment Sirius felt as if he was stuck, stuck like the spoon in his messed up potion and stuck like roots from some obscure plant in Herbology were winding their way across his ankles. But then Remus smiled and rolled his eyes, and Sirius made some obscene gesture and smirked in return, and Slughorn was rushing over to berate Sirius for not paying attention, he could’ve blasted the roof off the place, for Merlin’s sake.

         At breakfast the next morning Sirius sat directly across from Remus, and was extra careful to make a show about spreading butter across his toast. He caught the way Remus’ eyes followed his long fingers almost hungrily, and if Sirius wasn’t so tired, he could’ve sworn he caught a glint of yellow in his friends stare.

         ...

         Sirius went home for winter holidays. Home to shouting matches and slamming doors and curses. Home to a mother who turned her nose every time he came into her point of view, and to a father who readily used his palm and his belt when Sirius was fresh. Home to days cooped in a lonely room filled with posters of half naked muggle girls grinning unmoving down at him from the walls and absolutely no word from Remus or Peter, but lots from James, who told him that he was on vacation with his parents in Paris and Sirius would love it there, the girls were all very knowledgable, after all, and James was his best mate, like a part of his soul, but Sirius couldn’t help but resent him when all he got sent were short letters scrawled in a messy hand of all the escapades and adventures James had gotten into without him.

         When they came back Sirius was careful to hide the last nights fight of red strips along his back, but Remus looked at him funny the whole day like he knew, and Sirius was extra sharp that night. James even gave him a disapproving look about it when Peter ran off crying to their room, went up after him, and left Sirius brooding and Remus staring with that same yellow look in his eyes, only softer.

         Sirius just glared and looked away and picked up a book he pretended he was reading, but when Remus wasn’t looking he placed a pillow behind his back to try to ease the pain.

...

         Sirius got more and more broody, and soon James and Peter were avoiding him in the common room and not partnering with him in class, and Sirius found he often felt the urge to hit someone. He picked fights left and right, and he didn’t fuck anyone because every girls voice suddenly sounded shrill as Anya Cooke’s in his ears, and he felt like Remus before the full moon, moody and sharp and unforgiving.

         Except it really was near the full moon, so he and Remus were just two peas in a pod, weren’t they, because last time he checked Remus wasn’t on particularly good terms with James or Peter either, this week. Sirius probably should’ve thought of that before he picked a fight with his last lifeline, but he couldn’t help teasing Remus about his date with Kelly the fifth year, and asking if he’d fucked her, and he also couldn’t help the bitter, biting tone that erupted with the question and smirk, either.

         And he didn’t blame Remus for slamming him into the wall of the empty classroom he’d found Remus doing homework in that evening, and he couldn’t help the way he arched into Remus’ violent touch, or the way he strained his hips forward and reached for Remus’ neck with his teeth and bit, hard.

         Sirius couldn’t help the way the sight of Remus’ blood turned him half hard in a second, and rock hard in the next when Remus returned the bite, only Remus bit Sirius on the lip, and then blood was flooding Sirius’ mouth and Remus’ lips were on his and his tongue was in Sirius’ mouth and fuck, Sirius didn’t think he’d ever wanted anyone more than he wanted Remus right now.

         He wasn’t sure whether the sound that escaped his lips when Remus pushed him stomach first into the edge of an empty desk was a whimper or a moan, but he thought that it was probably a little mix of both.

         Remus’ hands were slipping down his stomach, nails and all, and his fingers were wrapping around Sirius’ cock and pulling _hard_ , and Jesus, Merlin, if Sirius didn’t stop him soon he’d be coming in his pants like he was fourteen again.

         And then Remus pressed his own hard cock against Sirius’ backside, and Sirius lost all thought.       

         Sirius came with a cry muffled against the skin of his forearm, wet from his panting, and after a few more clothed ruts against Sirius, Remus came too, with a growl and a sharp bite, right behind Sirius’ ear, and Sirius wondered how fast Remus got hard again, because Sirius might be ready for another go around already.

         But Remus had already flung himself back and off Sirius, and by the time he had buttoned his pants and turned around the door was slamming behind him and Sirius was alone.

...

         He made up with James and Peter because they were his mates, his best mates, and he felt bad down inside. Fucking with Remus, or whatever they had done in that classroom, seemed to ease Sirius’ tension, and he was back to his normal self in no time. He didn’t see Remus in human form until days after the full moon, and then he just pretended that everything was normal. He was guessing that’s what Remus wanted, anyway, since Remus was the one to leave him without a word. Sirius got it, he understood, he was easy and an embarrassment and he was a Black, and that was shameful, goddammit. He didn’t want Remus to feel ashamed.

         So he ruffled hair and nuzzled necks and acted like normal, except maybe not so physically with Remus, because the moment he thought about nuzzling _that_ particular neck he remembered the still fading bruise where his own neck met his shoulders, and then he’d shudder and have to go take another cold shower. And there were only so many excuses he could make at his sudden need for bodily cleanliness.

         It had been almost two month, nearing yet another full moon, and Sirius had long given up hope that anything would happen with Remus again.

         He’d returned to the classroom the month before, the same night, when the moon was almost filled out, missing one last sliver of painted silver yellow glow. He’d waited for two whole hours, but Remus never came.

         He didn’t even bother this month, told himself that if Remus had wanted him and just forgotten, although Sirius didn’t know how he could’ve forgotten ‘cause it was on Sirius’ mind all the time, but if he’d forgotten the place and day he’d have come up to Sirius the other times they’d had a chance alone. He never did, so Sirius just forgot it. It was better that way, anyway.

         Except it wasn’t, not really, because it had been dark for hours and it was three minutes past midnight and Sirius still couldn’t sleep. He slipped from his bed and out of the room and made his way down the hall clad in only a thin pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt and slippers to the classroom. Their classroom.

         He slowly shut the door behind him and took in the sight of Remus, whose back was to him. He was highlighted in a halo of yellow from the faint light filtering through the window of the classroom, and to Sirius, he looked like an angel.

         He turned, and in moments he was on Sirius like some feral thing. Sirius felt his back hit the floor and a hand pull at the drawstrings of his pants and then a pair of hips heavy on his own. Sirius arched, neck bared in submissive longing, and Remus took the hint and bit down precisely where he had the last time, where the bruise had faded no matter how many times Sirius had pressed his fingers into it since.

         Remus’ hands slipped his pants off even as Sirius tugged at his shirt, and then hands were at his arse and something was muttered low beneath heavy breath, and sticky fingertips were pressed up and into Sirius. He almost keened, and something escape his mouth despite how hard he bit his lip. He felt something long and hard and thick press against his entrance and then nothing for long moments except his eyes meeting Remus’.

         In the moonlight he could see the yellow gleaming clearly now, see the way Remus bared his teeth in longing and frustration. And then Remus was in him, pushing deep and hard and fast, and snarling at his ear, and Sirius couldn’t see anything but Remus’ face, hear anything but Remus’ voice, feel anything but Remus’ back and arse and hair.

         And then he came and thought of nothing but Remus, too.

...

         Later, much later, after Remus had muttered a quick cleaning charm and they dressed together and walked together but with Remus still so far, so distant now, Sirius lay in his bed and watched the sunlight come in through the heavy curtains surrounding him.

         There was a rolling feeling deep in his gut and when James pulled back the curtains Sirius turned into his pillow and claimed he was too sick to go to classes that day. He lay in bed for hours, curtains pulled tight, except once in awhile he’d open them and look over at Remus’ rumpled, empty bed, and then he’d close them again and lie back and feel even more sick.

         He didn’t expect anyone back until right before dinnertime, so he was surprised when he heard faint footsteps that grew louder with each second until they stood right beside his bed.

         And he expected it when Remus whipped back his bed curtains, but he didn’t expect Remus to crawl up wordlessly next to him, or for Remus to snuggle in beneath the covers, chest to chest, and wrap his own fingers between Sirius’.

         He didn’t expect Remus to whisper sweet words, either, or even dirty ones, when the yellow had fully faded from his gaze. He didn’t expect the three words he realized he’d been craving for weeks, either, or maybe it was more like months, maybe even years.

         They lay quietly after, and finally Sirius worked up the courage and said those words right back, and Remus smiled brilliantly and held his hand tighter and asked him to stay with him, at least for a bit, over summer break.

            Suddenly, Sirius didn’t feel so bad anymore.  


End file.
